


Dragon Age Prompt Generator Ficlets

by owlpockets



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9336401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlpockets/pseuds/owlpockets
Summary: Collection of odd ficlets from theprompt generator.  Characters and summaries at the beginning of each chapter.





	1. Sera & Velanna - locked out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera accidentally tries to open the wrong door on a job for the Jennys and encounters Velanna.

Sera had never, ever, _ever_ , been unable to pick a lock. Even tired, even a little drunk, the door to a rented room at an inn should have posed no obstacle. How had she lost the key? It must have slipped out of her belt sometime in between acquiring it from her colleague and taking a quick but ill-advised tumble with a pretty sailor’s daughter out in the back alley. 

Sure, it wasn’t her own room she was trying to get into, but that was entirely beside the point. Sera leaned her head on the wood frame with a soft, frustrated noise and suddenly fell forward as the door was yanked open. 

“What are you doing?” a woman asked sharply above her. A bare foot stomped down hard between Sera’s shoulder blades as the pointy end of a staff nearly made contact with her eyeball.

 _Steaming piles of nug shit!_ “This isn’t...my room?” Sera asked weakly, pushing the staff away carefully with one finger.

“Clearly not.” The foot ground into Sera’s spine. “State your business with the Wardens, thief.”

“Wardens? Fuck me, I don’t know anything, I swear! It’s a mistake, a mistake,” Sera entreated her captor in a panic. If she swivelled her eyes just right she thought she might be able to see the woman’s face, but instead found herself looking up her robe instead and quickly averted her gaze.

There was a beat of silence, then Sera found herself unburdened of the woman’s weight, though the staff remained too close for comfort. Cautiously, she pulled her arms under herself and pushed up, slowly moving into a sitting position before looking up. She was Dalish, that much was clear, and she wore the kind of frown that Sera had come to associate with getting booted out the door of taverns for gross indecency. “Thanks for not murdering me in cold blood,” Sera breathed. “I promise I didn’t mean anything by it.”

The Warden was studying her carefully, eyes flicking from her ears to her tattered clothes to the dagger at her waist and Sera didn’t like it. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your damned business,” Sera spat back. 

“Fine, I will turn you over to the city guard for attempted robbery, then.” 

When the woman moved to cast a spell, Sera held up her hands in surrender, “Wait!” She stopped and waited for her to continue, though her expression hadn’t improved. “I really did just make a mistake. There’s some fancy-breeches nobleman cock up staying in this wing, I guess the barkeep tricked me with the wrong room number. He had it coming after feeding his serving girl to the dogs.”

There was a long pause and then the Warden asked, “How old are you, girl?”

“Old enough,” Sera glared and crossed her arms, challenging the woman to make good on her threat of turning her in.

After another brief pause, the woman pointed down the hall, “There are shems staying two doors down.”


	2. Dennet & The Inquisitor - buried treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thing nobody mentioned to Master Dennet about dracolisks was that they are notorious hoarders.

The thing nobody mentioned to Master Dennet about dracolisks was that they are notorious hoarders. At first, idle complaints about missing totems and other small baubles from soldiers returning from the field left no impression on him. He didn’t notice a pattern until the day Trevelyan walked up slowly, eyes flicking back and forth over the ground as if searching for something.

“Inquisitor,” Dennet greeted with a nod before returning to his task, hauling several buckets of dirt into the stable corridor.

“I wonder if you’ve seen an...Inquisition heraldry pin lying around anywhere?” Trevelyan asked quietly. He looked vaguely anxious. “I seem to have misplaced mine and I thought I might have dropped it here when I returned yesterday.”

“Not that I’ve seen,” Dennet replied, scooping dirt onto an area of the floor pitted with small holes. “But I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thank you. I believe Lady Josephine might have my head if I lost another one, even if I wasn’t gambling this time.” Trevelyan quirked a smile and crouched down to help pack dirt into one of the holes. “Why are you bothering with this? No one’s going to notice.”

“The damnable beasts keep digging holes in the floor with their claws. I’m afraid some visiting Orlesian noble is going to trip and declare insult,” Dennet grumbled, jerking a thumb at two dracolisks watching them over the doors of their stalls. He paused to watch them as one started making a terrible hocking sound in its throat, as they inexplicably tended to do while at rest, and a thin silver chain dripping in bile slipped out of its mouth. The chain dangled there between its teeth, oozing spittle and worse down the front of the door, but the dracolisk seemed to not notice.

Shocked, Trevelyan stared at the beast open-mouthed, task forgotten. “That is absolutely disgusting.”

“If I may be so bold, Inquisitor...this was your idea,” Dennet accused without much heat behind it. How could either of them have known? 

The connection between the missing trinkets and the dracolisks finally presented itself in Dennet’s mind--he stood and entered one of the stalls, shoving the dracolisk aside to find the most recent hole. He dug into the freshly disturbed earth with his fingers and pulled out a filthy, slimy piece of jewelry. “I believe I’ve found your missing pin, but you may not want it back.”

Trevelyan leaned over the stall door, and pulled back with a grimace when he saw the damage. “You’re right, I’ll take my chances with Josephine.”


	3. Merrill & Justice - monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill and Justice have a (slightly drunken) heart to heart.

“Andersssss….” Merrill felt her tongue catch and slur a little bit. She _might_ have had too much to drink. “Are you asleep or dead? I think he’s asleep,” she told no one in particular, for even Isabela had retired for the night. Or morning? She wasn’t sure anymore.

Merrill prodded his shoulder where he had slumped over on the table in Hawke’s dining room. A flash of blue caused her to snatch her hand back, and then Anders, or rather Justice, sat bolt upright, eyes blazing. “Do not touch us, blood mage.”

“Rude,” she huffed. There was a card stuck to his face next to the imprint of a copper coin. Merrill swallowed her laughter as she reached out to delicately peel it off. “I really don’t see how we’re so different.”

Justice watched her put the card on top of the stack with exaggerated care while seeming to consider her intention. “I do not understand. You are a blood mage and I am not. How are we similar?”

“We’ve both done questionable things we thought would help people,” Merrill suggested, hesitantly since she was not sure of her words through the haze of alcohol.

“Then perhaps we are both becoming monsters,” Justice agreed.


	4. Isabela & Anders - on unsteady legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slow night at The Pearl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was the perfect excuse to expand on that one banter from DA2, you know the one:
> 
> Anders: I keep thinking I know you from somewhere...  
> Isabela: You're Fereldan, right? Ever spend time at the Pearl?  
> Anders: That's it!  
> Anders: You used to really like that girl with the griffon tattoos, right? What was her name?  
> Isabela: The Lay Warden?  
> Anders: That's right! I think you were there the night I—  
> Isabela: Oh! Were you the runaway mage who could do that electricity thing? That was nice...

“Dance with me,” Isabela said dramatically as she hauled the blonde man sitting next to her out of his chair by the arm. Her right ankle wavered dangerously in her new high-heeled boots and she almost fell backwards when he crashed into her shoulder.

There was scattered, birdlike laughter from some of the women idling nearby, all with glasses or mugs in their hands that sloshed in time with the music. Isabela shot them in a wicked grin as she arranged his hands low on her waist. One of them briefly slipped down onto her ass.

When it became clear the man had no idea what to do and was, in fact, probably too drunk to fake it, Isabela started leading. “What’s your name, handsome?” 

“Anders,” he answered, after a moment’s hesitation.

Isabela laughed, amused and not really expecting to receive a truthful answer. “Oh come on, that’s not even clever. Don’t you have something better to work with?”

“Why can’t that be my name?” he replied with a sloppy smile and half-lidded eyes gazing down at either her face or her chest; they were too unfocused to tell for sure.

“I haven’t seen you before...do you work here or just passing through?”

“Sort of both. Hiding out, mostly,” Anders replied slowly, clearly concentrating on not falling over when they bumped into a table when Isabela attempted to spin him around. A failed endeavor due to height logistics.

“Mm, mysterious,” Isabela chuckled, pulling on his belt to keep them both upright. The heel of her boot caught on a chair leg, and they went down hard in an undignified jumble of limbs and broken wood, hoots of encouragement exploding from bored onlookers.


End file.
